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The Wandering WebWhore is my personal blog. I'm a 30-something indie pornographer whose journal covers a variety of topics: mundane daily life, work-related reflection, sex stuff, current events, and more. MY SITE FEED 
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Friday, February 24, 2006
Snow, Misanthropy & Dog Shit
SNOW, MISANTHROPY & DOG SHIT Last night I was trying to read when the dog started hollering at me from outside to come and untangle her and let her inside. I was annoyed by the interruption, but then thankful for it since I wouldn't have otherwise noticed it was snowing. Dry bitter little flakes blowing around in spiral patterns so pretty I turned on a big floodlight in our yard so I could see them whirling around. It didn't last long, but it made me happy. Where I grew up wasn't far from here, but the climate was very different. In my hometown the rare snow was always sloppy, heavy, and wet. The big flakes fell straight down. Here, the weather is drier, colder and much much windier. Seeing tiny light whirling specks of snow is still novel and fantastic to me. I couldn't even hold onto the feeling that I hate snow and had to accept that I actually wanted it to KEEP SNOWING. We did wake up to a thin crispy sheet of snow, but not enough to thoroughly change the way everything sounds. Today the dog dug up some nasty rotten carcass of something and would not drop it when I tried to harrass her into leaving it be. Instead she just gulped and tore at it more fervently, crunching on old bones. At one point part of it's raggedy body was hanging out of her mouth -- I could have grabbed it but didn't want to sully my hands. Hours later, Nic0 doesn't seem any worse for the wear so I'm glad I just let her eat the damned thing. I learned something today; non-dairy mochas taste fucking disgusting. I try to steer clear of coffee, especially expensive espresso drinks, so I haven't had one made since I accepted my lactose intolerance. Today I finally decided to treat myself to a mocha made with Rice Dream. Blech!! Absolutely nasty. In fact, my entire coffee-shop experience was absolutely nasty. I decided to patronize a new little hole-in-the-wall that set up shop across the street from a hoity-toity french-style bakery (one that my sister walked out of once because of they way they jacked up the price of a tuna fish sandwich by putting it on fancy bread). I breathed a sigh of relief to see their sign on the door ("No Dogs! Etc."). The frizzy-haired lady called me "hun" and I thought everything was going to be magical until I found out they were out of hazelnut flavoring (but did have a nasty sugar-free version). Then some raggedy-ass guy came in with a ratty but sweet looking labby mutt. I wondered why the mom 'n pop of the shop didn't tell him to get the mongrel's ass out and resorted to giving him dirty looks myself while the dog wound around my legs and suddenly everything seemed to smell vaguely of dried up old dog shit, cardboard and hot sour milk. After the man left I made some remark about people not being able to read. Come to find out, this was not a DOG it was a member of the proprietors' FAMILY!! And then the lady proceeded to chatter at me Bette Midler style about the dog blah blah blah DOG blah blah blah DOG DOG DOG blah blah blah. She explained they posted the sign so they could exercise their own discretion about OTHER PEOPLE's dogs, dogs that don't mind or get in kids' faces. I resented hearing a guilt-trippy tinge of my own indie business person lecture reminding me that since it is HER BUSINESS she's going to enjoy running things HER WAY. Great lady, and since it is MY MONEY next time I will go to Old Frenchy's across the street where the people are too fucking snotty to give you a fifteen minute long clarification on the dog policy along with the question, "do you have a dog, hun?" Translation: you heartless critical little cunt - I'll bet there's not an ounce of love or warmth in your non-dairy heart for sweet little dog like our Joey here so you just wouldn't understand, would ya now!?! Raised on Starbucks and corporate greed you're not used to a shop-owner enjoying a little freedom while she's trying to make an honest buck!! Yeah, lady, we have a dog. And yeah, I often wish we could take her to breakfast with us but there are things like ALLERGIES and HEALTH CODES. I finally pulled away from her and situated myself as far away from the counter as possible to try to read some true crime while sipping my nasty-ass Rice Nightmare Mocha, but the woman's voice carried as she continued to yammer incessantly to her husband. A young man came in to pick up an order of pastry his mom phoned in and Bette Midler told him he must be looking for Old Frenchy's across the street. Then the young man decided to sidle up to me, the only other patron in the place and pretend he did so to rustle through the newspapers. He finally tried to strike up a conversation with me by asking me to point out Old Frenchy's through the window. Good one, kiddo. I pointed and kept trying to read. I would have told him to go pester the ever-talkative Bette Midler, but then a woman pushing a stroller full of baby entered and the two of them began yammering about childcare. Could someone open a small cozy cafe for childless misanthropic Luddites? One that does not involve yammering, cell phones, squaling infants, or the stench of animal dander and feces? I want to be part of an in-crowd that GLARES mightily at gigglers, yakkers, extroverts, cute furry friends and non-biodegradable data containers. It's hopeless though -- all of the cool indie bookish places have wretched felines strolling around, swishing their allergen laden tails with arrogance and ownership. I just don't belong anywhere. Today I saw a little girl (perhaps eight years old) in the bookstore reading in a big armchair when suddenly she rushed out of the store to take a call on her cell phone. I did a double-take thinking perhaps I'd mistaken a midget for a child, but it was really a CHILD. At least she had the manners to hold her conversation outside, which is more than I can say for the biddies in the back who disrupted my pleasant book search by trying to walk two-abreast past me through a narrow aisle, chatting loudly all the while as one told the other how very "PT" (our town's initials) the little store is, letting her friend know how very QUAINT and DELIGHTFUL are small town is and that she, Mathilda, was sharing this unfound gem with her visiting friend, Majel, who should feel so very privileged to have the experience! Majel interrupted Mathilda to point out a book of poetry and loudly intone that she had studied with its author. It was like the rest of us loners in the bookstore were props with ears, there to add local color and listen with awe at their sophistication and accomplishments, but not to respect as people who actually TAKE UP SPACE in the aisles and deserve a polite, "excuse me" while their horsey asses pushed us aside. Nevermind us, we don't really want to enjoy the peace and quiet of a bookstore -- PLEASE impress us with your chit-chat! I'm kind of on a rampage about the dog thing because in the past couple of months I have encountered more and more stinky men with stinky little dogs in public buildings where they do not belong. On a busy Friday, for example, a man got behind me in a stalled line at the bank. He reeked of stale cigarettes and whiskers and had a nasty little shit-encrusted lap dog in his arms. I didn't actually see crust of shit, but I smelled a packrat's carpeted house with all the windows painted shut and mouldering piles of poodle poop nestled in dark corners. Then when I was in line at the variety store yet another man with yet another ungroomed dog graced the entire check-out area with a similarly rank odour of old feces clinging warmly to his canine's ass. After he left I remarked on it to the cashier who regaled me with a story of a squalid man who makes a ritual of bringing his stinky dog in to say hello to all the cashiers. He doesn't actually buy anything, he just thrusts his dog into their faces to offer them the privilege of petting his pooch. Then the other cashier interrupted to say that was NOTHING compared to the woman who came in to use the restroom, shat all over the floor, wiped her ass with her own underwear and then left it on the floor by the checkout counter. 
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4 Comments:
Oh yes, avoid Rice Dream. I hate rice milks, they're so terribly thin and chalky. I do, however, like the Rice Dream frozen pops, but I suppose I'm not expecting them to be thick and creamy. Silk brand soy milk is really the way to go, which is so easy to find that it's usually what they have on tap at coffee houses.
Yeah, I should try again with Soy but I opted for RD because I prefer it for drinking (RD Vanilla). Maybe it just gets all fucked up when heated. Maybe I'll give it another go with silk . . . Tucker said the same thing.
Did the Rice Dream curdle? Soy milk will do that in some teas. To make tofu from soy milk, you have to add an acidic thing, and then strain out the soy curds and whey and press the bits to make tofu. But, if you get that curdled mess in acitrus tea, it looks nasty.
Nope -- no curdling, I just didn't like the flavor.
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